


On the Run

by Cara_Loup



Series: Transitions [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Adventure, First Kiss, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2888444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cara_Loup/pseuds/Cara_Loup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between shared dangers, unrelieved tensions, and a startling offer from Luke, Han has a hard time remembering why he should resist.<br/>T<span class="small">RANSITIONS</span> 2: Across the gaps and unexpected twists in the known story, this series explores the changes in Han and Luke’s lives from their first encounter to the battle of Endor — and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Run

ORD MANTELL

Staccato bursts of sizzling plasma chopped at the wall and seared a jagged line across the corroding garbage container. Han angled his blaster around the corner and squeezed off a few random shots, anger clutching his gut. He’d taken a risk coming to Ord Mantell, but damnit ―

Abrupt as a Monsuuri spring deluge, the bounty hunter’s barrage broke off, and Han could hear the blood pound in his ears. No bets that the bastard had backed off. In all likelihood, he was taking a breather to bring out the big guns.

“Go!” he snapped into the pause. “I’ll cover you.”

Out of his crouch, Luke gave him a look aimed to scan his intentions and turning suspicious in a heartbeat.

“I’ll be right along,” Han countered sure protest before it came. “Just get our motor running, an’ don’t worry about me.”

A pitched whistle underscored those last words. But before he could squeeze the trigger, Luke’s blaster had swung around and up, a quick discharge splitting the dank air. His shot didn’t make a dent in the missile’s blackened shell, but it deflected the thing off its trajectory and sent it careening into a stack of empty canisters on the other side of the street. Yep, Force or no Force, the kid’s reflexes were right on the money. Almost uncanny, in fact.

The black sphere plopped open, belching a stringy cloud into the mixture of unsavory smells that filled the alley. Some stun gas or other, Han reckoned, and the longer they stayed holed up here, the faster the odds for escape would go downhill.

“Go!” he repeated through his teeth, training his blaster on a shadow of movement behind the next corner.

Sometimes he could feel Luke’s glance on him like a laser probe, and this was one such occasion, but at least the kid didn’t waste more time arguing.

“One minute,” his voice said close by Han’s ear, then Luke crept away, and the taut knot in Han’s gut eased up a little. Cornered and poked at by Jabba’s hired heavies didn’t rank anywhere on his list of favorite situations, but the fact that he’d dragged Luke into this mess kicked his mood down to the dumps that much faster.

While he kept up steady salvos that would drain his blaster dangerously soon, he tracked Luke’s movements across a mental map.

They’d parked the rented ‘speeder a block away, hoping to draw less attention if they approached their target on foot. And the scheduled transfer had worked out smoothly, a word-less transaction amidst the rowdy throngs that populated _Keena’s Kitchen_ at this hour of day. A credit chip slipped into the thumbless hand of a veiled Havran, then Luke pocketed the small data cube that would send General Rieekan’s staff into a merry tap dance, if Rebel rumblings could be trusted. They were already moving towards the back door when Han felt that warning prickle at the back of his neck. And recognized a face in the crowd that set his teeth on edge.

A red diode glimmered from the grip of his blaster. Grumbling a curse, Han reached for the last charge pak at his belt, which was when he spotted another missile hurtling his way ― yeah, great timing, as always ― and the sucker landed within a meter of the rust-gnawed garbage container. Han backed away from the bluish fumes it gushed. Right then, the welcome purr of a well-tuned engine told him to forget about the charge pak. Draining the near-exhausted battery, he sprayed the shadowed alley with relentless rapid fire until the ‘speeder slowed at his back.

“Come on!” Luke shouted, revving the engine for a speed-of-sound escape.

Han straightened, blaster raised in both hands for a parting barrage at the pipe that traversed the alley. Sewage from an upper level came sluicing down as his shots punched holes into the dirt-crusted metal. It wouldn’t hold off pursuit for more than a few seconds, but at least it screened their retreat.

Han leaped into the vehicle, yelling “gun it!” as if Luke needed any such incentive. Abrupt acceleration knocked him back in his seat, and the ‘speeder shot forward, its canopy raising simultaneously.

“That was close,” Luke said, eyes on the sluggish traffic as he angled the vehicle towards an upper lane. “Where to now? I don’t suppose we can head straight back to the docking bays.”

Han shook his head, winded. “Lemme think...”

“We should contact Chewie―”

“I know that!” he snapped while Luke threw the craft into a narrow turn without cutting speed. Han clamped a hand around the edge of his seat while he fumbled for the comlink with the other. _Damnit, don’t get jittery, Solo_.

Much as he’d anticipated, Chewie didn’t take the news with the solicitous concern one might expect from a Wookiee who’d pledged a life debt. Instead, Han got himself a burning earful of noisy indignation.

“Listen, pal,” he finally cut in, when Chewbacca launched all the standard insults at his intelligence, “you can yell at me all you like, but if you don’t move your hairy butt outta there, you’ll be trading whacks with unfriendly company soon. Take the Falcon out of tracking range and get in touch when you’re docked somewhere safe, got that?”

Another roar filtered through in tinny rattles.

“No, you don’t!” Han returned sharply. “Find yourself a bolt-hole first, and we can talk about a pickup later. Now, get to it.”

When he cut the connection, Luke threaded the ‘speeder into the idle traffic flow above the central boulevard. Sorry excuse for a boulevard that it was ― junk heaps and ramshackle stalls littered the street level where one of the biggest grocery markets in the sector used to be. While he’d curbed speed to match the scuttle of hovercars and vendor’s barges, Luke kept a white-knuckled grip on the steering lever.

“Relax,” Han said automatically, “we got a decent head start.”

Without bothering to reply, Luke detached one hand from the controls to rub at his right shoulder. Still waiting for directions.

“Turn a sharp left at the next intersection,” Han instructed. At the back of his mind, a list of potential hideouts was piling up, and he narrowed it down to the only choice that made sense, “then all the way to the old pump station.”

“And from there?” Luke asked.

Sure wasn’t making any effort to cover up that note of doubt. Han shot him a glare that glanced right off the tense profile. Like he’d made a habit of running them into trouble, or something.

“The tunnels,” he said shortly, plucking at a memory that’d turned fuzzy over the years.

“Tunnels.” It wasn’t exactly a question, more like a cue intended to jog further info from his memory.

“The local smugglers built them for bootleggin’ when ground traffic was all people knew round here. Makes ‘em near to prehistoric, I guess.”

“And you’re sure that whoever’s after you doesn’t _know_ of their existence?” Luke’s grip on the lever didn’t ease.

Han frowned. The kid was nothing if not sharp. At some point between _Keena’s Kitchen_ and here, he’d figured out that they weren’t facing Imperial heat, come to tag them for blowing up the Death Star. And sometime soon, Luke would want to know what exactly had landed them in this scrape.

“A lot of people know about the tunnels,” Han stalled, “but that ain’t saying much. It’s a vast network with exits all over the place.” He leaned back in his seat and busied himself slapping the fresh charge pak in place. “Once we’re down there, we won’t be easy to find, and we’ll have a full score of escape routes to choose from.”

The ‘speeder swung into watery twilight, passing under the bloated shadow of a residence that swam high in Ord Mantell’s atmosphere. As trade routes and markets shifted, a handful of big-wheels had constructed those lofty roosts to keep head and shoulders above the slime crawling around the planet surface.

“That’s the pump station coming up.” Luke stopped massaging his shoulder to reach for the altitude lever.

“All right. Can’t park our motor too close to the entrance, or we’ll be too easy to track.” Han craned his neck for a suitable spot. “Take us down by the docking tower over there.”

 

Some ten minutes later, they were picking a path through the remains of an underground lavatory, witness to an era when public hygiene had still been a common goal.

“We should’ve brought gas masks,” Luke commented, in a fair imitation of a casual tone.

“Bad smell’s never killed anyone.” Han yanked at a battered plasteel door. “Don’t hold your breath, it’s gonna get worse before it gets better.”

“I’ll take that as a promise,” Luke muttered.

He unhooked the small glowtorch from his utility belt as they passed the doorway, but its thin beam barely scratched the stifled darkness. When they climbed down a flight of worn-out metal stairs, the stench hit them at point-blank range, a thick blanket of rot and biting ammonia.

Inhaling sharply through his mouth, Han set a foot on the steel gantry across a large sewer basin. “Still holding,” he commented. “Come on, it’s gonna be a picnic from here.”

On the far side, a narrow tunnel slanted off right where he remembered it, and the air grew more breathable in a matter of moments.

“See? This is it.” Han raised his wrist compass into the beam that flickered nervous patterns across the rough-cast walls. “We should head north, past the city limits. That’s gonna make it less of a risk for Chewie to come ‘n get us.”

“Right.”

Short of immediate hazards that kept them occupied, Han could almost hear the wheels turn in Luke’s head, adding facts to guesswork and bound to fabricate troublesome questions in less than five seconds.

“So... who was that guy?” Luke asked before he could count to three. “You don’t usually run from a fight.” _Not even when it’s the reasonable course of action_ , Han complemented what went unsaid. “...and for all I could see, he was alone.”

“Don’t count on it, kid. Most bounty hunters work on their own, but that don’t mean they won’t―”

“Bounty hunter?” Alarm tightened Luke’s voice. Well, he’d been around long enough to get all the implications in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, I’ve run into him once or twice, though I wasn’t on his target list at the time. Goes by the name of Tanoot.” Gray-skinned and slit-eyed, a walking package of genetically enhanced muscle. Not quite in the top league, but close enough. And definitely several grades above the likes of Greedo.

“That means there’s a substantial price on your head.”

The tunnel sloped down for a few more paces, then leveled out. From somewhere, the drip-drop of viscous fluid inserted off-beats into the rhythm of their steps.

“Well, what’s one more bounty when the whole Empire’s plastered with your profile?” Han tried a flip reply. All he got for an answer was a soft snort, and an angry flick of the torchbeam that swept his face. “Hey, he didn’t come for me with a rocket launcher or anything!” Momentarily blinded, that sweep of light caught him short-fused and defensive. “He’s supposed to haul me back alive.”

“That’s very reassuring.”

The rare irony in Luke’s tone fired Han’s frustration into higher gear, and he swallowed another comeback at the last instant. _Not the kid’s fault, and you know it_.

“Aw, cheer up, will ya?” he grumbled.

Before them, the passage widened, patches of murky silver dotting the blackness. Watered daylight came leaking down through the remnants of air shafts. A few moments more, and Luke switched off the glowtorch. Tension laced his voice when he asked, “Who’s paying that bounty hunter, and why?”

“I still owe Jabba thirty thousand for a shipment I dropped when Imperial patrols caught up with us.”

In the limited light, Luke’s frown was a mere shadow. “When was that?”

“Shortly before old Ben hit on Chewie in that cantina.”

“But that’s almost three years ago!” Luke flared up. “You never told me―”

“Wouldn’t’ve made any difference,” Han cut in brusquely. “It’s not like I could’ve borrowed the money from you. And Jabba must’ve upped the price on my head pretty recently, to make it worth the trouble for a bounty hunter.”

“Perhaps the Alliance would have loaned you the rest of the money,” Luke countered. “You’re our best courier, and they don’t want to lose you any more than―”

“Yeah, maybe, but they don’t _have_ that kinda loose money. Besides, I would’ve paid off the rest last month, if it hadn’t been for that damn problem with the Falcon’s accelerator.” Heated impatience converged over the pit of his stomach at the pile-up of sheer bad luck.

“We could’ve thought of something,” Luke insisted with typical stubbornness. “You should’ve told me. What is this, spacer’s code of honor or something? What’s your excuse this time?” He broke his stride to face Han. The thready lighting caught a glitter in his eyes.

“Cool it, all right?” Han growled, his own temper sizzling in the wake of a drawn-out adrenaline flush. “I know what I’m doing. ‘Sides, half the Empire’s lookin’ high and low for you, and it’s not like _you’re_ lyin’ low ‘til it’s safe to come up for air.”

All true, but that was Luke’s own choice. Luke’s breakneck courage, more than a cut past reasonable, that bordered right on dangerous. The thought of anything happening to him ― _or Chewie, or the Falcon_ , Han added defensively ― because of Jabba’s gut-busting greed frazzled his nerves more than he cared to admit.

Luke tilted his head, the jut of his chin giving him no quarter. “You should’ve told me,” he repeated. “I thought after all this time...”

His angry reproach stumbled into silence, an explosive kind of silence that kept them just a breath away from shouting. With an abrupt turn, he struck off down the tunnel.

And to hell with him. Han lengthened his strides, anger fizzling out into something less clear, just when he tried to draw it up like concussion shielding. Too bad that he knew exactly where this flare-up came from, the pattern of Luke’s reactions way too familiar from the inside out.

“What?” he asked through his teeth.

“That you’d trust me.” Stark disappointment edged Luke’s voice.

_That’s got nothing to do with anything_. But instead of saying so, Han reached out ― damnit, the kid sure had a way of getting under his guard ― and caught hold of Luke’s shoulder. _You think I don’t know? It’s just that you’re worried about me_.

“Listen, junior―” A brief flinch interrupted him, an instinctive tensing of muscle against a recurring ache, and he recalled Luke rubbing that spot in the ‘speeder. “Something wrong with your shoulder?”

“Just a bruise.”

Well, he’d heard that before, way too often to believe it. Han flashed through snapshot memories of their run-in with Tanoot. A first laser blast carving exhaust-thickened air as they barreled across the cantina’s backyard and into the alley. Luke diving for cover, slamming hard into that rusting garbage container.

“Lemme take a look. It ain’t over yet. Trust me, you don’t need that kinda distraction.”

“Oh, come on, Han, really―” Luke broke off with a grimace. Far readier to yield to reasonable argument than Han under similar circumstances, he shrugged out of the jacket and yanked up his undershirt. In the torch beam’s narrow light, a purple welt stood out sharply, running down from shoulder blade to the short ribs. Just a bruise, right.

Han probed Luke’s ribcage with his thumb, slowly tracing the outline of each bone, and felt Luke wince again. No jagged edge indicating a fracture though, just a swelling from the rough impact.

“Lovely coloring you got there,” he commented. “Got anything useful in your med-pack?”

At least the Rebels had been cavorting with emergencies long enough to issue medikits and survival gear as a matter of routine.

“Yeah, there should be some bacta gel in here.” Luke tapped a pouch at his utility belt, fumbling with the clasp.

“Could’ve thought of that yourself.” His hand firm on Luke’s shoulder, Han reached around and retrieved a small plastic container.

“There wasn’t any time.” Luke stilled with an abbreviated shrug.

_Trust_ , Han thought incongruously while he started stroking the gel across discolored flesh. All too tangible in the way Luke relaxed under his touch, just like the way they’d come to rely on each other under fire. And he kept wanting to warn Luke about it before he could take a fall ― too much trust in him, by Han Solo’s safety standards ― absurd as that was. And even more absurd to think about catching Luke’s inevitable fall.

Han smoothed the bacta into the skin around the bruise, tracing the definition of lean muscles as they drew tight. And touch triggered visual recollection, brought back a casual glimpse or two ― of Luke under the shower, skin toned to a shade of honey by Tatooine’s fierce suns, every hint of adolescent softness burned off his frame by constant drills and tough duty. Something to look at, no doubt about it.

Except that he’d known better than to take a closer look.

Han slid his hand up to the nape of Luke’s neck and rubbed at strung muscles. Some decisions just came together below the level of actual thought, subliminal notions locked away before they could generate complications. And one such thread seemed to materialize under his fingers right now. All it took was a random spark, covert glances intersecting, and speculation ignited on a visceral level. _What if I_ ―

No way. Not a kid from the outlands of Tatooine, who looked like he’d never been kissed and kept that starry-eyed look for the Princess, and for her alone. All the arguments lined up in a heartbeat, like he’d spent a lot of time assembling them. Which he hadn’t.

Smooth skin warmed under the circling motions of his hand, a hint of pulse thrumming against his palm.

Besides, Luke took everything seriously, always got involved with all of himself, never settled for less.

A small shiver raised goosebumps along Luke’s spine.

“Cold in here, huh?” The words hung in the stillness long enough to ascertain that temperatures had nothing to do with it. A rebellious impulse coiled suddenly in the pit of Han’s stomach.

His hand had slipped down to rest over the small of Luke’s back, and Luke didn’t move, a quick breath heaving his chest. So he hadn’t been wrong about this, something _had_ been simmering between them for a while. But some things were best left simmering before they could boil up into major trouble. Han withdrew his hand with a moment’s delay, a moment loaded with all the possibilities, stirring him in a guarded place. Abruptly, uncomfortably aware of Luke’s body warmth and the convolutions in his own thinking.

Luke shifted under his touch, easing away with some reluctance.

“Better?” Han asked mechanically.

“Much.” Luke’s voice had lowered and sounded slightly hoarse ― unless the tunnel’s warping acoustics accounted for that. He turned, too many questions in his eyes.

They’d gotten sidetracked in the middle of an argument, Han reminded himself and wished pointlessly for a healthy shot of anger.

“Look, it’s not about trust,” he picked up the broken thread. _Well, no, it really wasn’t, was it?_ a small sarcastic voice piped up from the back of his head; just that sparkly, sizzly _what if_ flitting from his head to his gut. “It’s just not my way,” Han tried again. “I got myself into this mess, and I’m responsible for getting it straightened out, that’s all.”

“I never heard you complain when I helped out with repairing the Falcon.” Luke tugged his undershirt back down without breaking eye contact. “Or when you left Chewie and me to deal with that bad-tempered ammo trader on―”

“That wasn’t how I’d planned it, and you know it.”

“And what about the things you’ve done for me?” Luke insisted. “If life’s about square deals, how does _that_ tally up in your records? You keep telling me that you don’t do charity...”

“Well, I don’t.” Count on Luke to spot any flaw in his logic from miles away. Han tossed the empty bacta pack aside, stalling a moment longer. If he claimed he’d collect owed favors in due time, he’d just trap himself neatly. So he side-stepped the problem ― _hell, what problem?_ ― and cut back to the start of it all. “The deal with Jabba simply goes back a long way, and up ‘til last month, it didn’t look like there was anything to worry about.”

Luke crossed his arms, ready to question every snippet of fact.

“...and I do trust you, all right?” Han snapped. “You think I’d let you fly the Falcon or cover for me if I didn’t?” He threw up a hand, dismissing the subject for good. “Now, you wanna get comfortable in this cozy spot, or can we get going?”

Striking, how Luke’s smile brightened his entire face, starting in his eyes. Though the glimmer of private amusement left Han wondering and made him want to ―

“Sure.” Luke turned and started walking at a brisk pace. “That means you’ll be leaving us soon, doesn’t it?”

His tone had changed again, steeled to careful sobriety. Still, Han couldn’t help feeling that he’d just been let off the hook.

“I promised Rieekan I’d stick around to organize setting up the defense systems on Hoth, but once that’s done...” He consulted the wrist compass when the passage forked again. “No way around it. I gotta make some fast money, before another tracker can catch up with me. And we don’t want ‘em leading the Imperials to your base either.”

“At least you won’t have to spend much time there,” Luke said after a short pause. “That’s a bonus, I guess.”

Han threw him a sidelong glance. Couldn’t for the life of him make out what went on in Luke’s head. Inside mere minutes, he’d gone from blowing up over the goddamn affair to calm acceptance ― if that wasn’t just a smoke screen.

_I pretty much told him that I don’t do commitments, no matter what_. And where in all hells did that taunting sliver of disappointment come from?

“I’d stay around if I could,” Han compromised after a brief struggle with common sense that seemed to be on the losing end way too often these days.

Another pause. “I know.”

_Well, I didn’t_. He set his teeth. _Yep, going soft, Solo_ ― hanging out with starry-eyed idealists could do that to people. And maybe dodging bounty hunters could provide just the right cure. _Uh-huh. Try sellin’ that to your Wookiee. Better keep your mouth shut for now_.

 

Han stuck to his own advice for a good half hour, until the winding passage they’d followed ran into a snarl of intersecting tunnels and variously-sized caverns, most likely the contraband stashes of another era. A grate high above shredded blurry daylight.

“I think we’ve come far enough.” Han checked his compass and chrono, trying to gauge the distance they’d covered. “We’d better wait for Chewie’s call now, before we go wandering off in the wrong direction,” he added. “Why don’t you stay here, rest your back a while―”

“My back’s fine,” Luke felt obliged to put in.

“Stay here anyway and keep watch,” Han said gruffly. “I’ll just check for the closest exits. Back in a few.”

Within the next ten minutes, he located a total of three exits in the vicinity, though one was blocked by a heavy iron door. Probably led into somebody’s basement. From what Han could see through an overhead grille ― and daylight was about to falter into a soggy dusk ― they’d made the outskirts of the city. Only a few flitters bobbed lazily along the skylanes, and a buzzing of distant sounds filtered down.

The next exit lay on the other side of a derelict, brick-built outhouse. Through the doorway showed the outline of an automated water-mill. Large pipes fed the installation, a muted rush filling the tunnel like whispers of blood running through giant veins. Han retraced his steps, carefully mapping the various routes in his head. If the Wook could find a way to drop by inconspicuously, their chances of clearing Ord Mantell with their hides intact weren’t looking too bad.

His mood perked up by a notch or two, Han strolled back to the crossroad. He could see the puddle of light from a good distance, then the outline of a silhouette before the ragged blackness of a cavern.

Luke was sitting cross-legged on the floor, head tilted back slightly, his eyes closed. Surveying the area for unfriendly troops, Jedi style ― if that’s what it was ― but Han slowed his pace nonetheless. He’d come up on Luke’s meditations often enough to recognize the posture, the tranced expression on the kid’s face. Relaxed, yet oddly aware, a searching kind of stillness hanging over him.

Han leaned his shoulder into a rough wall and tried to get a grip on the notion as he studied Luke. All this time, the kid had been changing right in front of his eyes, the gawky farmboy nothing but a memory now. And it wasn’t just combat experience and regular workouts that had toughened him up. The change seemed to reach way beyond added confidence and muscle tone, a tacit power growing on him.

_Oh yeah, and next you’ll swear you believe in the Force and all that destiny crap_ , Han scoffed at his own reaction.

Destiny wasn’t going to get a foothold in his life, not if he could help it. But there was something about the way Luke pursued his improvised Jedi training with all that passionate, stubborn intensity... Han’s glance slid down the line of his throat, to the hollow between his collarbones, traced the slow rhythm of his breaths. His hand closing fretfully around a remembered touch.

_Oh to hell_ ― But now the troublesome _what if_ had blown the lid he’d slammed on it, all the things he’d spent so much time _not_ thinking about. And he couldn’t help noticing how the half-shadow smoothed and sculpted the clear lines of Luke’s face, how a soft gleam on the pale hair framed his profile. Too close to gorgeous for comfort, with that damn inviting openness in his expression.

A scrape of metal against stone broke Han out of it. One hand twitching for his blaster, he fell back against the wall and shot a quick look around. Near as he could tell, nothing moved in the tunnels, but the scratching returned, closer than he’d first thought. His glance fell to the uneven ground.

Only a glint in the twilight, the hilt of Luke’s lightsaber lay several paces from where he sat. And jittered as if tugged.

Alarm crawled on Han’s skin for a moment. He narrowed his eyes at the thing that shouldn’t by rights be moving unless rocked by a groundquake, but not the slightest vibration passed through the rock beneath his boots. And while he watched, the lightsaber slid forward, inched towards Luke... and lay still.

So much for the telekinetic exercise. Han hadn’t quite figured out if his own reaction came closer to relief or disappointment when Luke shifted and opened his eyes. Abstrusely, the first thing he said was, “I’m sorry.”

Han breathed out consciously and felt a small tension knot twitch between his shoulders. “Sorry? ‘Bout what?”

“You look a little spooked.”

“Well, that Force of yours’s pretty impressive sometimes.” Maybe he shouldn’t have let his guard drop that far, but what the heck, hard evidence had just slapped him in the face.

“I thought you didn’t believe in mystical energy fields.”

Amusement flashed in Luke’s eyes, but given another moment, Han had recovered enough for an almost casual reply. “Ain’t nothing mystical about this one, for all I can see.”

“Then you admit it? That the Force exists?”

How the kid’s eyes could look so bright in a gloomy hole like this was another one of those puzzles better left untouched.

“From where I’m standing, it sure looks like there’s some kinda energy you can tap into.” Han folded his arms, settling in with the reasoning that took shape as he talked. “And why not? The whole galaxy’s made up of energy in some form or other. But that doesn’t mean it’s got any kind of purpose or will of its own. Or that it’s tellin’ people what do with their lives.”

There, that made good sense, a neat package he could handle. Uneasy tension started draining from his nervous system.

“It sure doesn’t tell me anything,” Luke admitted. “I keep going through the exercises Ben showed me, but beyond that―”

“He showed you _all that_ on our trip to Alderaan?”

Luke chuckled. “No, just the basics. You could say I’ve modified and... expanded the techniques, I guess, but that’s the limit to what I can do. Manipulate things, draw on the Force to improve my reflexes, stuff like that. I’ve learned to control and direct it much better.”

“Maybe that’s all that can be done with it,” Han speculated.

A short shake of the head betrayed pent-up frustration. “No. There’s much more. For instance, Ben could feel the destruction of Alderaan from parsecs away. He could reach into other people’s minds, like when we ran into that stormtrooper checkpoint in Mos Eisley.” Luke paused and uncrossed his legs. “I just know there’s more. I can feel it when I touch the Force.”

Hard evidence or not, irrational notions such as this were bound to get Luke into seven kinds of trouble, but arguing the point wouldn’t make a dent in his convictions. And perhaps he needed that sort of incentive to keep going. Best leave it at that, Han decided, paying no mind to the start of a quick chill at the back of his neck.

“Well, whatever, you were supposed to watch while I did the recon tour,” he groused.

“It probably didn’t look that way to you, but I _was_ watching.” Luke’s tight-lipped smile implied half an apology. He pulled up his shoulders. “And I could tell where you were.”

Something in his tone, a bewildered note beneath the assertion, made Han wonder. Luke couldn’t have gotten a line on the things that passed through his head, could he? Like old Ben, who’d had a knack of giving people the once-over like they were made of clearsteel and neat little cogwheels...

The comlink issued a scratchy bleep right then, and Han shook the thought gladly. _Big deal, the kid must’ve heard me poking along the tunnel_.

He thumbed the comlink on. “You all right there, Chewie?”

Another outpour of peeved rumbles and bellows rewarded his concern, but at least the cantankerous furball had made all the arrangements for a brisk fade.

“Why, thanks, pal,” Han grumbled back at him. “Meantime, we’ve been sittin’ it out in those smelly old tunnels. Can you get a lock on our coordinates? ― Yeah, that’s right. And I’ve spotted two exits close to where we are. There’s one at the back of an old water-mill. Domed roof, big pipelines going out ― can’t miss it. Give us another call when you’re in the area.”

Chewie absorbed all that with pensive grunts and snuffles, adding another scoop of unnecessary advice.

“He’ll need another half hour,” Han reported when he’d cut the connection. “Should be dark outside by that time.”

“Let’s hope that bounty hunter won’t tail him,” Luke returned.

“Ain’t that easy to outsmart a suspicious Wookiee.” Han checked the chrono again. Well, no point wasting time with witless fidgeting. He lowered himself on the ground next to Luke. “If you wanna go on with your exercises...”

“Not now.” Luke reached for his lightsaber and hooked it back to his belt.

“What, ‘m I distracting you?”

An unrevealing sidelong glance was all he got for an answer. Just as well, Han didn’t mind skipping another discussion of all that esoteric Force stuff. From the cavern on his other side rose a whiff of humid soil and something like spilled vinegar. The wall pressing cold against his back.

Han shifted his shoulders and tried to get a little more comfortable. Damn this damp, grubby hole. “A real shame Tanoot spoiled our stopover,” he gumbled. “Could’ve gone touring the clubs tonight.” At least those reliable joints where strict weapons checks and dim lighting guaranteed safe cover. Maybe.

“We’re on a mission here, not a pleasure cruise,” Luke said, his sense of duty kicking in like clockwork. “We should’ve left at once anyway.”

“Come on, you think a couple hours more or less’d make such a difference?” Han shook his head, never mind that it really wouldn’t have warranted the risk. “Life ain’t worth anything if you can’t take a break ‘n have fun every once in a while.”

“Fun,” Luke echoed skeptically. “Like what?”

“Like going for a good sample of the local firewater and maybe pick up interesting company.” Han started to bristle without a real clue why. After all this time, Luke should’ve grown used to his attitude.

“And that’s how you were planning to spend the night?”

“Yeah.” Not that he’d given it any thought before their visit to _Keena’s Kitchen_ , but _if_ he had ―

“I see,” Luke said in an oddly puzzled tone.

For a few seconds longer, Han waited for another critical comment, but nothing came.

“What?” he asked, not even trying to guess Luke’s thoughts anymore. What was it anyway, that made him feel like he was constantly on trial? “Anything wrong with it?”

“Just... wondering what you get out of it, I guess,” Luke answered with blunt honesty. “I mean, you’re talking about taking a complete stranger to bed, aren’t you?”

That remark had him well and truly baffled. The farmboy would have turned several shades of red before broaching the subject, but a stealthy glance at Luke’s profile showed nothing of the kind.

“Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it,” Han returned jauntily ― and simultaneously wondered if Luke _had_ tried it and come away not liking the pay-off. Took something of an effort, to conjure the image of Luke hitting on a transient in a portside bar. Slightly uneased, Han realized the scenario didn’t go over big with him.

“Ain’t nothing much to it,” he added, mostly to drag himself away from that pointless line of thinking. “’Times you just run into someone who swings to the same tune, you hit it off together, and it feels good. No strings attached and no questions asked.”

“But you can’t trust them,” Luke said thoughtfully.

So that was what bugged him about the idea. Couldn’t have gone very far with that attitude.

“’Course not.” Han shrugged. “But there’s different levels of trusting somebody. ’Long as I can trust ’em not to cut my throat or make off with my boots, I’m okay with it.”

To Luke’s ears, that had to sound sordid as hell. Besides being worlds away from his romantic notions about Her Strait-Laced Highness. Sometimes Han wondered how much of real life actually filtered through all those glowing ideals.

“Look, good sex doesn’t mean there’s gotta be a big romance involved―”

Luke snorted. “Yeah, I’d figured that out myself, thanks very much.”

So he had, had he? Han wondered again exactly how much actual practice that process had involved. _All right, let’s try testing the waters here_...

“Sounds like you’re off to a good start,” he said with a deliberate dose of sarcasm. “Next step, take a look around whenever you get the chance, pick a nice girl or guy―”

“Aw, cut it out!” Luke muttered, sounding exasperated sooner than shocked.

Han didn’t bother to check his grin. “What, you’re not into guys?”

“That’s not the point.” Luke turned sideways, directly meeting his eyes. Some awkwardness showed through his braced calm, but the topic sure didn’t rattle him. “Call me whatever you like, it’s just...” A hand lifted, groping around for whatever he was trying to express. Inconsequentially, Han noticed how close they were sitting together, arms and shoulders touching as Luke settled back.

“I don’t see the point if there’s no real closeness, I guess. And trust. It should make a difference.”

Not much experience behind that statement, going by his expression, but definitely another solid conviction. And that was just like Luke ― the way he made up his mind and stuck to his beliefs, come hell or high water.

“I’m not sayin’ it doesn’t make a difference,” Han returned. “Just that it’s an added bonus, not a necessary requirement.”

“I suppose it is for me.” When Luke carded his fingers through his hair, another fading shimmer caught on it, but his face was cast in shadows. “Though maybe I simply don’t see the point―”

“The whole point is sharing pleasure with someone, as easy as that.” Having to spell it out sure felt kind of strange, like setting it apart from the uncomplicated cooperation of chance and instinct that it was. “And, yeah, it makes a difference when you actually _like_ the other guy―” whoa, had he just said that? “―when you can take the time to get acquainted,” Han plowed on without pause, “and all that. It can be a friendly thing.”

Companionship and occasional sex could make an enjoyable mix, at least in theory. The past couple of years had swung by without any such development, and he hadn’t gone out of his way to look for it either.

“But if that’s how you prefer it, why bother trawling the clubs?”

Hadn’t he just answered that question? “All a matter of time and opportunity,” Han supplied, growing uncomfortable under the look Luke bent on him. In the twilight, his eyes were the darkest shade of blue.

“Yeah,” he said quietly ― and made it sound like a question.

_Oh no, you don’t_ , Han clamped down on a rash conclusion. _Can’t mean that the way it sounds_. Through his shirt, he could feel Luke’s body warmth, all too noticeable in the surrounding chill. And a brief, heated flicker in his gut responded to the suggestion he tried not to recognize.

“What’re you tryin’ to tell me, kid?” And damn the hoarse sound of his voice in these godawful tunnels.

“That you’re looking past the obvious solution.” A hint of color darkened Luke’s cheeks now, and maybe there was a faint tremor in his voice too, belying the bravado.

_Run that by me again?_ Startled, Han tried to guess his motives. _Tired of waitin’ for Her Wonderfulness? Hopin’ to keep me tied to the Rebellion?_ But Luke hadn’t even tried to talk him out of leaving ― and if thoughts came with a distinct flavor, this one would’ve left a bad aftertaste.

“You mean, you―” Han fumbled like a raw beginner. “You an’ me.”

“Yeah.” Luke gave a shaky half-smile, close enough now for Han to feel his breath. Thick lashes a shadow against his cheekbone as they swept down, then his glance probed Han again. “Just like you said. No questions asked, no strings attached.”

Hell, he should appreciate a generous offer and grab it without thinking twice, but something about it didn’t feel right. _Oh, really?_ Every region south of his brain protested that it felt perfectly right, maybe too much so. And how could Luke be so calm and casual about it anyway?

_Never been kissed, huh?_ Han mocked his own assumptions. Then again, Luke’s fervor often made up for lacking experience. Han slid a glance at the gentle curve of his upper lip. All he had to do was move his head that final inch closer and bring their mouths together ― then he’d find out for sure.

A reckless frisson danced under his skin, and before common sense could freeze the motion, he’d raised a hand, slipping it around Luke’s neck. Too many discordant thoughts flipping back and forth in his head, while his stomach tightened with a pleasant tension. _Stop right there, Solo_.

Breath clogged stupidly in his throat, and his thoughts were looped together, stuck between one impulse and its absolute opposite.

_You want to sleep with me ‘cause you know you can trust me?_ Didn’t seem like a good enough reason anymore, all of a sudden.

“Can’t do that, kid.”

_Fine, that’s it, now let go_. Luke’s hair slid softly against the back of his hand as he shook his head. _Just don’t ask me for a goddamn reason_.

After all he’d already said, he couldn’t very well claim that he considered friends off-limits. But this... just fell under the heading of a bad idea. He’d sort out the why later.

“If you’re thinking I’m not sure―”

“No, that’s not it.” Han pulled his hand away and sat back, never mind the stark pang of frustration. _I know you are, you’re always so damned sure of everything, that’s just the trouble with you_.

“Luke,” he started, as the silence threatened to grow too heavy between them. “We just can’t. Trust me, it wouldn’t work out.”

No protest ― not yet ― when he met Luke’s eyes again. Just a swirl of unvoiced questions and sentiments. “Why not?”

“Just a gut feeling,” Han answered with the full, awkward truth. A feeling that had him laced tight to a sudden, aching want. “But it’s not―” _Not that I don’t want to?_ He bit the words off at the last instant. _Not enough_. Hell.

“All right.”

The flat, dry sound of it didn’t make Han feel any better. And he could literally see Luke edge back into himself. Pulling the shutters down over disappointment or confusion.

“Hey... Luke.” On the brink of reaching out again. _Don’t_. Anticipated touch troubled every bit of resolve into random energy. Letting go had been hard enough this one time. And another electronic bleep saved him from fishing for a murkier truth.

“Chewie’s here,” Han said a few seconds later, pushing the comlink back into the loop at his belt.

“Then we’d better go.” Already on his feet, Luke radiated nervous tension like a booster coil.

“Yep. That way.” Han waved at the tunnel on their left, still chasing words that could right everything he’d just blown off-kilter. Instead, his hand found Luke’s shoulder, reaching for balance through a practiced gesture of friendship.

A short nod for acknowledgement. “I know,” Luke said softly. Not looking at him either. “Let’s not make it any more difficult than it has to be.”

Han didn’t remove his hand. _Reading my mind, kid?_ But there’d been moments of implicit understanding before, the kind of intuition that worked with Chewie as well.

_Look at me_.

They’d stopped again, only a few paces along the tunnel. The distant murmur of water through the pipeline folded around them, or maybe it was just his own blood rushing into abrupt apprehension. _Don’t wanna lose you_...

When Luke turned his head sideways, a slow breath brushed the back of Han’s hand. Their eyes met for a moment, and something ignited ― something more than acknowledgment, and less than acceptance ― easing into the fraction of a smile. _Leave it at that_.

“It’s okay.” Luke slipped out from beneath his hand, out of reach, and started down the tunnel.

A stir of relief twitched in Han’s chest, not quite settling all the debris of useless thoughts and overwrought reactions, but for now it’d have to do.

The throaty gurgle of water accompanied them all the way to the crumbling outhouse, a shadow stream tracing their steps. Han raised his comlink again when a vapid shimmer of natural light showed clear ahead.

“Chewie, we’re coming through ― no, stay right where you are ‘n keep the engines runnin’. You never know.”

His partner had a ‘speeder parked just behind the mill’s generator and swore in snarls that no one could’ve tracked him. Fair enough. Han loosened the security strap off his blaster just in case.

They’d climbed from the tunnel into the brick structure when Luke suddenly thrust a hand out. “Wait!”

“See something out there?” Blaster raised shoulder-high, Han was about to brush past and check out the terrain.

“I said _wait_!” Luke snapped ― and he’d never heard that tone from him before, the tight note of alarm mixing with sharp anger.

Han set his teeth. Within the damp cubicle, their breaths rang suddenly loud, the quiet that enclosed them thickening over the crawl of seconds.

His blaster still cocked, Han listened for a treacherous noise, squinted for some conspicuous sign of danger, and failed to pick up anything. The doorway’s rectangle framed a slice of the mill and an array of giant pipes, all of it merging with the gloom, while the moist scent of mold rose to his nostrils. If it hadn’t been for Luke’s spooked expression, he would’ve launched a sortie by now.

“So what is it?” he asked under his breath, an absurd sense of being trapped growing on him. But when his glance tracked past Luke’s shoulder, he caught the glint of metal just above the topmost pipe, a thin flash that propelled him into mindless action, falling a step forward ― where a wild shout froze him.

“Han, no!”

Lunging towards the door, Luke had his blaster out and fired without taking aim. Pure instinct claimed action, driving lightspeed movement and furious intent. For a split second, a swift frost thrummed in Han’s backbone ― the sight of Luke suddenly alien in all that fierce menace ― and his own shot tore loose as a matter of reflex, wide off the mark.

A broken yell came ricocheting out of hanging twilight, and one of the vague shadows lurched into drunken movement. Stumbled, buckling, pitched down over the pipes, and hit the ground hard. Taken out by an impossible brand of spot-on shooting that’d blown up a Death Star three years ago. Recovered from surprise, Han whistled through his teeth, adrenaline spilling through his veins.

“Whoa, that was―!”

Whatever he might have added faltered before the vacant look in Luke’s eyes. White-faced, hand still clutching the blaster, like he’d been gut-shot by the same plasma beam. Delayed reaction struck in the pit of Han’s stomach and radiated cold through his solar plexus. “You all right?”

The nod Luke gave was insubstantial, his eyes too wide, but Chewie came charging round the corner right then, drawn by the sound of gunfire like hell’s vengeance on two legs. He skidded to a stop by the shadow bulk of Tanoot’s body, his bowcaster whirling for a hidden target.

“Looks like he came all by himself.” Han met the Wookiee halfway and patted his furry arm to counter the pending guilt attack for picking up a tracker. When he turned back, Luke had snapped back to himself, though the taut set of his shoulders screamed tough restraint.

“Luke, what is it?” But his voice didn’t carry that far, and he didn’t feel like shouting, not with that odd disquiet clogging in his throat.

Chewbacca rumbled another guttural warning. Best beat a fast retreat now, and worry about the ramifications later. If there were any.

Han scanned their surroundings one more time, and all the lightless crannies of the water-works stared back innocuous and quiet. Mocking the clutch of bad feelings in his gut. Like the faint aftershocks of a zero hour just past, spun out into a dazed ambivalence that made no sense at all. He waited for Luke to catch up and said nothing.

* * * * *

 

HOTH

A chill draft threaded into the Falcon as soon as they’d landed, and through the hangar glittered the sharp reflections of runlights on ice pack. With a scowl through the open hatch, Han threw on the heavy parka before setting foot outside. Several steps ahead of him, Luke broke into a jog across grubby snow and loader tracks, homing in on a slight figure in padded white like he was drawn by some inner radar.

Energetic as usual, the Princess was giving directions to a cluster of coveralled techs. The group was hauling equipment with an effort that sent their breath up in fuzzy puffs, but she spared Luke a smile over her shoulder when she saw him coming.

Han strolled across at a leisurely pace, taking the time to note various improvements on the hangar fittings and the raised number of snowspeeders. Pristine and racy, but apparently still weeks away from getting airborne, if the jumbled pile-up of spare parts and maintenance gear was any indication. Somewhere on the left floated a wet, organic smell that reminded Han vaguely of soaked Wookiee.

Short of hurtling himself headlong into the Princess, Luke put the brakes on. He fell into a trot, hands stuffed into the pockets of his thermo jacket, which reminded Han to zip up his parka. Even on the far side of the hangar, with all the waste heat from vehicles running on standby, Hoth’s perennial frost had a bite to it that stung his face and throat in a matter of moments.

He caught up with Luke and Leia in a sheltered space between two parked supply shuttles, and before he’d quite reached them, the Princess tossed him a wary sidelong glance. Not unsettled enough to ruffle her countenance, but that brief flicker of her brown eyes testified just how much his presence unnerved her. Han pinned on the flip facade she expected to see.

“Captain Solo.” Now she’d collected herself enough to project nothing but the standard impersonal courtesy, always a little stiff around the edges, but basically civil. And he wasn’t about to repeat his invitation to call him by his first name either. One of these days, it was bound to slip, just like that stray look had slipped her control.

“Happy to see you too, Your Wonderfulness,” he drawled, raking her with a deliberately insolent glance. The padded jumpsuit gave her a girlish look, a little plump and softer than the defensive line of her chin and jaw. “Looks like you’re setting a new fashion trend.”

Her dark eyebrows arched exquisitely. “It probably escaped your attention, Captain, but we’re on an ice planet, and in an environment like this, white qualifies as camouflage.”

“So you’re planning to stroll out ahead of the scout teams?” Han made a show of nodding approval. “That’s what I call spirit. Always setting an example for the troops.”

He had her there, and a swift flush crept into her cheeks, conceding him the point. Camouflage it might be, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that Command would risk her precious limbs, even if she plastered herself in fresh snow. Now there was a lovely image... Han let his smirk widen while the Princess was still working up a riposte, but he couldn’t have missed the warning glance Luke flung his way. _Back off_. And if a measure of jealousy simmered behind that look, it was buried deep in unease.

Leia squared her shoulders ― as much an admission of defeat as he’d ever see ― and for want of a snappy comeback resumed her conversation with Luke. “I’m glad the transfer proceeded without problems,” she said, her expression warming by several degrees. “Would you mind taking the data cube straight to General Dodonna? We’ve scheduled a briefing later this evening, but the data needs to be scanned and evaluated first.”

“Sure.” But Luke didn’t budge, a mutinous tension in his posture. “Anything else I can do?”

“You should take the rest of the day off,” Leia answered. “Get settled in at your quarters, Commander.” She pronounced his new rank like a compliment, striking a note that was bound to raise any devoted soldier’s body temperature. “It’s already getting dark, and you’ll be on alpha shift tomorrow.”

“Right.” Luke took a short step backwards ― hesitating to leave them alone without a buffer, Han thought ― and his eyes lingered on the Princess another moment. “I’ll see you at the briefing then. Han...”

With a sidelong glance, he shuffled off, and the awkward lumber in his stride started a chuckle low in Han’s chest. Luke never moved like this anymore, except within spitting range of Her Snippy Highness. Somehow her presence brought out residues of the sullen farmboy like a torpedo drawing flak.

_Must be love_ , Han told himself, though the notion sparked off an odd friction with his memories of Ord Mantell.

“Luke tells me you ran into a little problem,” the Princess said crisply.

Even though Luke had disappeared behind the clutter of vehicles and load lifters, Han kept his gaze trained in that direction. “Yeah, we went through a little two-step with a bounty hunter.” He pulled it off easy, the casual tone that was guaranteed to make her bristle. “No big deal.”

“Bounty hunter?” Leia echoed.

Like a laser beam aimed his way, Han registered her glance as she gave him a quick check-out from the corner of her eye. Oh, she was doing that very elegantly, purpose and subtlety in one graceful package, but he noticed anyway.

“In that case,” Leia added, “I suppose we’re lucky that you’re both unharmed.”

The fine edge of sarcasm no longer fooled him. In fact, he’d come to enjoy their impromptu sparring and the clandestine contest for a first clue to surrender.

Han turned a slow grin on her. “Yeah, you’re very lucky that I’m still completely untouched and intact.”

She flushed at that, annoyance winning over the response she kept well out of sight. “Oh, I can hardly contain myself, Captain.”

_So different_ , Han thought incongruously. Before he could block it, the memory of Luke’s calm directness broke into the middle of his thoughts with that disarming, radiant smile. _If you’re thinking I’m not sure_ ―

But the bottom line ran, they were both after his body ― Leia could deny it all she liked, the louder the better ― while making eyes at each other. Over a safe distance. One of these days, perhaps he’d plumb that conundrum yet.

Then again, some people simply worked that way, took pleasure where they found it while holding out for the person with the ‘marry me’ tag on their shoulder. He’d seen it happen before, though the marrying part was alien to the ninth degree.

“Have it your way, Princess.” Han strolled back in the Falcon’s direction when a low-frequency rumble passed through the ice pack under his boots and stopped him in his tracks.

Straight ahead, a strip of snowy dusk shrunk between the massive shield doors. They sealed with a harsh clang that sent another tremor through the ground, and something ominous lashed out at him with the sound. Like the metal boom’d set some secret countdown running. Han nearly shook his head at that flaky notion. Seemed like the blasted Ord Mantell interlude had struck superstition into his bones where it sure as hell didn’t belong.

“Captain,” Leia called him back.”I suppose you’ll want to collect your payment. Lieutenant Galstra should have it ready for you.”

The jut of her chin made it a dare. One he could answer with another piece of the mercenary routine or a flip reply. Any which way, he’d be hanged if he told her that he needed some cash pretty bad. Han settled on a laconic shrug.

“And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t expose Luke to unnecessary hazards, next time you’re on an assignment together,” Leia fired her next shot. “If you can help it.”

That barb caught. A hot flicker of anger came loose in Han’s stomach. “If I can help it? Sure, Your Worshipfulness, and I’ll see to a change in the weather too. How’d you like a nice sunny beach instead of all that snow?”

“I mean it,” she retorted, tight-lipped and glaring.

“Just for your information, the kid’s got no problems watching out for himself.” Not that he’d bet his bottom credit on it blind, but Luke had been holding his own on Ord Mantell, and his combat instincts placed him up there in a league with the best of them.

Not in the mood to wait for a reply, Han stalked off. Her Sanctimonious Highness could do her worst trying to stare burn holes through his parka for all that he cared. Though their collisions didn’t always end in such a mutual huff, each run-in with Leia’s spicy temper supplied fresh evidence that there was no predicting the female mind. He grunted under his breath.

Like a positive and a negative charge, male and female attracted easily, and if you made good use of the magnetism, it could stay pretty interesting for some time. But get too close, and they’d cancel each other out, if nothing worse.

_You’re such a cynic_ , he could almost hear Luke say. But every scrap of evidence he’d ever seen proved that foggy romantic notions set people up for a plummet into self-made misery, once their little soap-bubble burst.

 

Half an hour later, after saturating the Falcon’s sensitive conduits with anti-freeze and setting the heater coils on maximum, Han wandered back from Lieutenant Galstra’s office, though ice cubicle was the more appropriate description. His stomach grumbled meaningfully, demanding a scouting expedition to the mess hall ― and perhaps he should tow Luke along while he was at it. Since he devoted more and more time to his Force training, the kid had developed a habit of overlooking such mundane things as eating, their return trip to Hoth being a case in point.

On first impulse, Han headed himself for troop quarters, but changed course again in moments. Not likely that Luke would stick around in a freezing closet, it was either workout time at the makeshift gym or tuning up his X-wing. Considering the length of time he’d been separated from his rogue fighter, the latter got Han’s vote.

He wandered back to the main hangar and from there cruised the smaller bays where one-man fighters were parked in twos and threes, gauging their general condition as he walked past.

Some ten minutes later, his stomach growled viciously, and he still hadn’t come any closer to locating Luke in the maze of ice caverns. Not that he’d taken the scenic route or anything; there wasn’t any reason why the prospect of a private moment with Luke should be something less than comfortable.

All through the return trip, Luke had been his easy-going, slightly distracted self, even if he’d piled on extra time for lightsaber practice and meditations. Even if something grim and uptight had slipped into his concentration, like hard tracks carved by their final run-in with Tanoot. Most likely, he just needed a bit of space to work the whole incident out of his system.

Han tugged his parka’s sleeves down over his cold hands. Some time into hyperspeed, he’d brought the matter up again, and their short exchange replayed itself in trenchant detail, including the steep incline of tension that leaped up out of nowhere.

“Look, kid, I guess I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing.”

Bitten off at both ends, a shuttered look disclaiming all personal involvement.

“All right, if that’s how you wanna play it.”

The bite in his own voice rang too sharp in the Falcon’s cockpit, but then Luke shrugged and tilted his head to the side, a hint of awkwardness returning. “You would’ve hit him a second later.”

Well, whatever. If Luke wanted to hang it all on the Force or coincidence and take no credits for plugging Tanoot, Han wasn’t about to argue the point.

Except that the memory of Luke’s outburst kept swinging through his head at regular intervals. A white anger lurching to the front, the kind he’d never seen in Luke ― no longer so innocent, and near desperate with fury ― _and all for me_ , Han thought, the strangest sensation clenching in his gut.

Maybe Luke had just been venting his frustration, after having his offer shoved back in his face, but hells, if that pitch of intense reaction was a measure of his ―

_Don’t go there_ , Han warned himself.

Fact was, he’d felt idiotically clumsy around Luke ever since, constantly groping for a gesture that would tie things back together, the usual ease of their rapport tilted out of balance.

At that point, Han interrupted his brainless ambling and accosted a brave Alliance officer who happened by, grouchily asking directions to the right berth. The best he could do was set his bearings for business as usual, and sooner or later things would jibe the way they should and revert back to normal. There, that sounded like a reasonable approach.

Han stopped at the bay’s entrance and felt an absurd sweep of relief when he spotted the slender man astride the X-wing’s nose. Outgrown hair fell into Luke’s eyes as he leaned over to inspect the sensor window, an absorbed smile curving his mouth. From the droid socket, Artoo communicated test results in rapid bleeps.

“Yeah, checks out now...” Luke straightened, arching his back through a slow, luxurious stretch, and brushed his hair back in the same motion. A white thread of breath hung before him.

Han opened his mouth for a casual comment when Luke’s eyes suddenly swerved his way, locked on to him with an impulsive force that stopped the words somewhere at the back of Han’s throat. A scalding worklight flashed on blond hair, sweaty bangs plastered against Luke’s temple.

“Hey.” His smile returned without effort or reserve. There was something so damnably bright about him, like a power source pulsing through his skin that owed nothing to mystical energies.

Han worked up a rough imitation of a grin, caught in the target of a clear, focused look that gave nothing away. And there was absolutely no reason for the confused alarm that gripped tight around his stomach. “Something wrong with the sensor array?”

“Nope.” Luke grinned and swung his right leg over the fighter’s sleek muzzle. “Artoo and I’ve been trying out a few things. We’ve rerouted a circuit or two...”

“Put some extra boost on the forward sensors?” Han guessed.

“Exactly.” Luke hitched up his shoulders. “Not much of a difference, but every bit counts.”

And in combat that easily summed up as the edge of life over death, but of course Luke knew that without being told.

He’d inched forward, letting himself down over the fighter’s side ― and while his brains took a sudden time-out, Han stepped up to catch him around the waist the moment Luke landed.

“Watch it, kid,” he grumbled, “ground’s pretty slippery here.”

Luke’s breath steamed up white against his face, a gust of warmth in the compact cold that obscured his expression. And the brief contact tripped a circuit charged with sinuous energy and raw potential. Han let go fast.

“I’m sure that’s against regulations,” he said with a nod at the fighter.

“You wouldn’t snitch on me, would you?” Luke quirked a small grin and stepped back to scoop up his jacket from a packing crate.

“Matter of fact,” Han returned, “I’m here to see if you wanna come grab some dinner. It’s gettin’ late.”

“Sorry, I can’t.” Luke ducked under the X-wing’s belly to slam an access hatch shut. “The briefing starts in twenty minutes, and I need a shower first.”

Han made a noncommittal noise by ways of reply. That last comment teased him with flitting images of wafting steam and rivulets tracing the muscles down Luke’s chest and belly ―

_Damn, should’ve said yes_.

That thought drowned in a leap of temper. He didn’t need this, not now. And besides, there were no water showers on this base anyway. If his imagination insisted on working overtime, it could at least stick to realistic parameters.

“I’m done here.” Luke zipped up his jacket and started walking in the direction of the main hangar with him. “Have you taken a look at our new mounts yet?”

Han shook his head. “I figured Command’d have to come up with something, since the snowspeeders aren’t ready.”

“They’re called tauntauns.”

“That sounds like something out of a crappy Amazing Creatures holo.” He remembered the wet Wookiee smell and guessed that he’d hit the sore spot right there.

Luke gave a soft laugh. “Well. I’ve heard they’re snow lizards, and they’re a little skittish... but if you turn on your charm, I’m sure you’ll have yours eating out of your hand in no time.”

“I’ll want a raise for that,” Han retorted. “I mean, c’mon, how low can you sink? Charming _snow lizards_ , my afterburners.”

“You might find the practice useful,” Luke answered, all innocence and blue-eyed sincerity.

Han snorted. But despite all the fluent banter, something was off, a false note in the seeming accord. Something ran troubled beneath the surface, transmitting on another frequency on which he couldn’t reach Luke at all.

A few moments later, Luke turned off into a curving corridor with a “see you later, old buddy.” Very nearly floored, Han sent a glare after him ― Luke had never called him _that_ before, and it didn’t sound natural either ― stilted as all get-out was more like it. _And whaddaya mean, ‘old’?_

Han quickened his strides, bound and determined to oblige the surly demands of his stomach at last. Except that something restless had taken the place of healthy, straightforward appetite, and he didn’t much care for the feel of it.

* * *

_C’mon, damn you, breathe_...

Insidious cold gathered along the clearsteel pane and curled against Han’s face. He started to pace again, hands shoved into the back pockets of his pants. Like every other place around this sorry dugout, the visitors’ lounge in sickbay was kept just a cut above freezing, and the cold chimed unnervingly with the sight beyond the observation window.

A body dangling defenseless within the close confinements of the tank. Bare skin exposed to the swirls of glowing bacta. The blue shadow of a nasty bruise exaggerated the half-healed gash above Luke’s cheekbone, his head tilted back at a vulnerable angle. Though his ribcage sank and fell at regular intervals, a machine breathed for him.

_‘S gotta be warm ‘n cozy in there_. Han glanced sideways at the wall while the thought kept ricocheting through his head and morphed back into a line he’d repeated to himself like a maniac, all through the crushing run of hours. _Gotta keep him warm_...

Retroactive alarm crawled at the nape of his neck. The cold crept up through the soles of his boots, and he wondered how Leia could just stand there as if frozen solid. Instinct bristled into mutiny when Han shot another covert look at the body in the bacta tank. He was keeping watch over nothing, a pointless exercise. The medical droids had dished out reassurances left and right a mere hour ago: Commander Skywalker would be fine after due recovery.

Han brushed his knuckles against the window. Through the pane thrummed the vibrations of medical equipment, hypnotic and impartial. A thread of survival like the faint line of pulse beneath Luke’s skin, barely perceptible. _Don’t you dare give up on me, damnit_...

Something within Han’s ribcage clenched savagely ― and rebellious reaction flickered across his nerve endings a moment later. He couldn’t afford this. Every warning instinct had shouted _run!_ for a while, but instead he’d bolted out into a howling blizzard. Tearing his merc reputation to shreds in the process, no less. Because Luke had to be alive out there, and that was all he could think, blizzards and lousy odds be damned.

The ferocious backwash took him unprepared, with a knot in his gut and breathless chills caging his chest. The whole freaking barrage of fear that he’d blocked from mind the last night.

White fury and white eddies pressing in from the margins of rational thinking. A breach that widened under the rush of recollection and veered him back into the vastness of a landscape shaped by indefinite cold, sinking into darkness under blankets of falling snow. A soft, terminal silence sealing around the shelter where Luke’s ragged heartbeat was the only sound. Hour after hour after hour. Until confused reflections of snowy light splintered at the first touch of morning.

Hours had passed since then, and a deeper frost still curled around Han’s spine, tight like a leash that kept him in a state of suspension while he monitored Luke’s shallow, mechanical breathing.

_Breathe for me, y’hear, kid?_

He’d never looked at Luke like this before, with a trapped sense of alarm that grew on him and grew unbearable fast. Seemed like tauntauns weren’t the only creatures made skittish by the harsh conditions of survival on this ice cube.

_Get a grip, Solo_. He wandered to the other side of the lounge, pacing himself across the short distance. So maybe their latest brush with the worst had left him a little rattled, but given time, his own priorities would slide back into focus. He’d lived the past ten years by the rules of loss and gain and coming out even. And no matter how Luke preferred to handle things, he was going to keep both eyes on the score.

_Yeah, that’s the way to go_ , he thought, giving himself a mental tap on the shoulder. _And that’s two you owe me, kid_.

* * *

Abrupt fire leaped across snowy mounds, scattering shrapnel into the white clouds that trailed the explosion. Han raised his head from cover and grimaced at the furious roar from Chewie.

“I didn’t hit it that hard,” he said into the comlink. “Must’ve had a self-destruct.”

But it was bad news anyway, even though they’d slammed the nasty black snooper into oblivion.

“An Imperial probe droid,” Leia’s voice confirmed.

“It’s a good bet the Empire knows we’re here.” Han batted wet snow off his parka front as he straightened. Spills of adrenaline warmed his body from inside, and that probably made it worth the madness of heading out into the killer cold one more time, a scant hour after Luke had been hauled from the bacta tank.

Arms thrust out, Han waded back to their ‘speeder through undulations of fresh snow. A burst of action could work wonders for his inner balance sometimes, clearing his system of excess tension. After that scene in sickbay he’d sure needed a breath of clean air.

Chewbacca climbed into the gunner’s seat, facing backward, his fur clotted with ice fragments all over. Probably could have passed as the Wampa creature that’d dragged Luke to its den, Han thought with a touch of unease.

“Ready, pal?”

Repulsors swirled a mist of snow up around them as he kicked the craft into gear. The cab warmed slowly, and the canopy cleared into a panoramic view of polished icescapes. Safe. Almost pretty from a distance. Until the sun jabbed suddenly through the cloud cover and flashed over glacial planes, a violent sear that threatened to leave him snow-blind. Han cursed and knuckled his eyes with one hand while he kept the ‘speeder on course. Hard not to think of this goddamn ice-ball as a malicious presence. And maybe his own focus wasn’t near as steady as he’d wanted to believe either. The waste heat of exertion seeped away much faster than he liked.

Han yanked the altitude lever with edgy impatience. He’d counted on full-blown relief to set in when the doctors finally pronounced Luke out of danger, but the moment’s levity had collapsed at the speed of sound. _Yeah, right. And just who blew it all sky-high?_

With several miles worth of wintry solitude between himself and the base, he could admit that he’d picked a bad time for taking shots at Leia’s snotty attitude. Then again, he’d merely responded to the buildup of subsurface tensions. Ever since their arrival on Hoth, something like static had crept into the communication channels between all three of them, gradually growing volatile, much as they tried to keep up a semblance of casual cooperation. At least that little fencing match had supplied Leia with the perfect excuse to let off some steam. And more.

_Why, I guess you don’t know everything about women yet_. Han could still hear the simmer of fury in her voice. Unmistakable, just like the defiant fervor she’d applied to kissing Luke, right there in front of him.

But Luke’s reaction hadn’t come off any more natural than his ‘old buddy’ routine. That smug show of relish had been a far cry from the farmboy’s bashful worship. _And that’s good news?_ Han aborted an irritable shake of the head. _I don’t need this_.

Straight ahead, the rugged spines and juts of ice pack announced the Rebel base. Han signaled flight control mechanically. He could turn the whole interlude any way he wanted, the sense of a grating discord lingered, and it bugged him like a malfunction he couldn’t pinpoint.

Some minutes later, he stalked back into the command center where General Rieekan held a confab with select flight techs and ground officers. Evacuation was only a matter of hours now. High time to fix the Falcon’s cranky motivator and get the engines running.

Han turned on his heel as soon as his report had received the due nod from Rieekan, but ten paces down the corridor, he ran right into the Princess again. Still going under full steam, from the look of her.

“You’re back.” Her posture eased when he made no reply to the obvious, merely waited for her sharp tongue to do its worst. Kind of an interesting experiment, really. Some seconds of silence disabled the whole mechanism of defensive friction between them.

“You’re cleared to take off any time you want,” Leia said finally. “We have no choice but evacuate this base.”

“Thought so.” Han pulled up his shoulders. “Have you told Luke?”

That question seemed to throw her completely, like he’d just proposed a spontaneous waltz through maintenance. “The order hasn’t been given yet,” she answered stiffly, “and sickbay will be among the last sections to be dismantled.”

“I thought maybe you’d prefer telling him yourself.”

A quick start of suspicion narrowed Leia’s eyes, but her glance lowered just as fast, roaming undecided along a bundle of power leads. “Your intrusion,” she said, her voice wavering a little, “and my own... overreactions have made it a little difficult for me to approach Luke.”

And it was her troubled candor that startled Han into shooting off a question before better reason could cross-check. “You’re not in love with him. Are ya?”

Every crack in her flare shields clammed shut in a heartbeat. “That’s absolutely no business of yours.”

“What’s wrong with answering anyway?” he growled.

“Han.” She drew in a tight breath. “If this is another one of your games―”

“Games?” And if that wasn’t a textbook example of classic irony. For the first time ever, they were having a sincere personal conversation, and the Princess filed it off as another smoke screen. Han shook his head. “You see me shakin’ any aces from my sleeve? Just answer the frippin’ question.”

“Luke is very special to me,” she snapped, but there wasn’t much heat or bristle in her voice. The faint slump of her shoulders made a statement of its own, and one that Han decoded in two seconds flat. She’d kissed Luke because he was safe.

“A simple _no_ would’ve done fine,” Han said caustically. “It ain’t fair to string him along, you know.”

“And that’s a concern of _yours_?” She’d long perfected the kind of glare that could wither lesser men and gave him a fair dose of it before smoothly changing tack. “I don’t know what it is with you. One day you act like a responsible commander, and you put your own life on the line to get Luke safely back to us, and the next you do your best to step on everyone’s toes.”

Han folded his arms and looked down at her. “Cut the dramatics. A simple snow storm ain’t gonna kill me, and someone had to do it.”

“Yes, I’ve heard you use that reasoning when you wanted to _avoid_ unpleasant assignments,” Leia retorted, unimpressed. “But this is something of an exception, isn’t it? Maybe you just surprised yourself yet again?”

Her strategic repartee was back with a vengeance, and Han felt the blunt impact where he’d least expected it, far behind his customary guard. The truth was, he’d made one exception after the next for Luke, right from the beginning.

For a disconcerting moment he wished he could tell Leia about those baffling changes in Luke’s attitude and the controlled detachment surrounding him. Instead, he mustered something resembling nonchalance. “Looks like I managed to surprise _you_ , Your Worship.”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Captain,” she said wryly, a spark of ironic amusement lighting the passage back into familiar waters. “It might not happen again within your lifetime.”

The smug challenge tossed out, she headed herself towards the command center. Spirited, beautiful, and very much in charge. 

Han flung a speculative glance after her, conceding her this one round. At least he knew the rules of this particular game, and it promised to get more interesting the more he managed to collar her attention. Ambitious as she was, she’d rope herself in by trying to figure him out and go one better.

When he set himself in motion again, his mood yawed back and forth between unconcern and a restless kind of expectation. Still, that was one notch up from yesterday, and tomorrow would see him gone.

A strange quiet was strung through the base, and traffic reduced to a minimum, like everyone was sitting tight in anticipation of emergency measures. From the few Rebels who passed him, he sensed lower-grade alarm, couched in brisk discipline. Word about the probe droid must have gotten around, and the veterans could all read the signs. Imperial hunting tactics had grown vicious ever since the Yavin battle. No doubt they’d bring the sharp end of all their nuclear firepower down on Hoth at top speed.

A short coil of frustration twisted in Han’s stomach. He’d hoped to leave Luke in relative safety when he cleared off to wrap up the business with Jabba; now the kid would have to get that reckless streak under control instead of planting himself in harm’s way all the time.

_Like he’s expendable_ , Han thought irritably. When he passed a quick glance around at the next intersection, he’d already crossed half the distance to sickbay. Might as well look in on the kid before he joined Chewie. Time was running thin, and he could feel it in his blood, the raising buzz of combat alert. Right behind it, a dim regret fell open into fretful afterthoughts.

If he’d taken Luke up on his offer, they could’ve shared a bunk for the past week, and maybe Luke wouldn’t have been so doggone stubborn about checking out meteorites after dusk in that killer cold. Right there, recollection caught up with a snarl of chilling sensations.

Luke’s body crushed close against him, clammy skin under his hands, the furious throbs of protest and fear under his breastbone. The coolness of Luke’s face pressed against the side of his neck, trailing shivers of breath. Like a parody of everything they could’ve had.

_Stop it_ , Han grumped at himself while he stomped down the short passage. It wasn’t like him at all to indulge useless hang-ups.

At a wave to the sensor panel, the door whirred out of the way. Luke raised himself on an elbow, his hair mussed and his cheek reddened by the ruffled imprint of a pillow. His expression wasn’t exactly welcoming. Nothing like the dazzling smile he’d received the first time round.

“Hi, Han.”

“You okay there?” Han moved closer to the bed like he was merely paying a social call. A screen of flippancy slammed roughly into place. “From the look of you, you’ll be outta here soon.”

With a short nod, Luke settled another pillow behind his back and shot him a look full of wary speculation. “Can you and Leia stop laying into each other?” he asked without preliminary. “I’m kinda tired of getting caught in the middle.”

“Dunno if _she_ can,” Han said grouchily. “You should’ve heard her in the south passage...”

“Where she expressed her true feelings for you?” A glimmer of humor slipped through, unexpected and compelling.

Han grinned ruefully before he could stop himself. “Yeah, well...”

“She didn’t mean it, you know,” Luke said quietly, fixing the white panel at the bed’s foot.

“Mean what?”

“When she kissed me.” Only Luke could say that with such artless sobriety, stating facts regardless of ego damage. “She doesn’t feel that way about me.”

Irrational as it was, quick anger spiked in Han’s gut. “Too bad we gotta leave here again,” he grumbled, “I’d thought maybe all that pack ice could teach her a trick or two.”

“Aw, come on!” Luke gestured in exasperation, eyes searching him. “Sometimes you sound as if you don’t even like her. And then again...” A wave of the hand supplied the rest.

Instant denial wanted to leap to Han’s tongue, but he caught it back. He lowered himself on the edge of the mattress. “Frankly? There’s a lot to admire about her, but she’s not an easy person to like. Most of the time, it’s like she’s keeping the best part of herself throttled.”

To his surprise, Luke didn’t object. “Or locked away at least,” he suggested.

_Yeah, and if you don’t watch it, you’re gonna do the same to yourself_ , Han thought abruptly.

“But anyway,” Luke continued, “isn’t that what you were going to prove? That Leia isn’t attracted to me?”

No judgement or reproach in his tone, but the question caught Han out cold. Veered him from his tracks so hard that for the moment he couldn’t meet Luke’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

In the silence that followed, his own words circled and shifted direction, skimmed confused meanings that reached from here to Ord Mantell. Was this what he’d come to say?

Luke ended the strained pause with a brief touch to his arm. “Nothing to worry about.”

When Han looked up, his gaze was unclouded and held nothing back. A connection coming alive again.

“Han, I...” Luke settled back and glanced down at his own hands. “I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’ll be leaving the Rebellion too, to continue my training.”

“On Dagobah,” Han supplied with thoughtless conviction.

Luke’s eyes widened. “How d’you know?”

“You talked a great deal, that night in the shelter.”

The suspicion of a flush showed across Luke’s cheekbones, like he was wondering what other secrets might’ve slipped. “I didn’t realize.”

“Not that it made much sense at the time,” Han added. And he’d only been half listening while alarm bent his attention on every thready proof of survival.

Too close, the memory sparked its chill at the pit of his stomach. Like part of his mind was stuck for good in that rickety shelter, listening to the storm and the creaking weight of snow that piled up against the steelfoil. His palm pressed down flat over Luke’s irregular heartbeats.

And his glance strayed with the momentum of that memory, from the line of Luke’s throat across bare skin exposed by a loose sickbay shirt. He wanted to touch again, slip his hand inside for pleasure not panic, and feel Luke respond, wide awake ―

“Ben told me to go looking for a teacher on Dagobah,” Luke said haltingly. “I heard him clearly, out there in the storm. I thought... perhaps he led _you_ to me as well.”

“Me?” The conversation had moved from straightforward to bizarre while he wasn’t paying attention. Any other day, he would have laughed at the notion of meddlesome dead breezing in to lecture the living. Here and now, it almost spooked him.

“I’d call it a hunch.” Period. Han folded his arms, but the old man’s voice intruded, deceptively gentle with that cultured inflection. _You have no idea how important that boy is. Watch over him when I’m gone_.

He’d been so baffled by Kenobi’s request that he’d sputtered into abrupt silence. Guardian of a bumbling Jedi applicant? How absurd was that? But on Yavin Four, he’d stepped into those boots without a thought, when some unknown flashfire instinct suddenly got the better of him.

Well, he hadn’t done it for Kenobi, or the Rebellion, or some diffuse destiny he didn’t believe in.

Luke shrugged one shoulder. “You found me, that’s what matters.”

_Just couldn’t stand the thought of losing you_. For a long moment, Han stared that confounding notion in the face. At loose ends, with a jumpy saunter in his pulse that urged questions he couldn’t ask and offered suggestions he couldn’t accept. But while they had a chance to set the record straight ―

“What happened back on Ord Mantell?” he asked abruptly. “When you shot Tanoot?”

Luke’s glance swerved aside, growing remote and guarded. “It’s going to sound crazy.”

“Tell me anyway.” In his taut profile, Han read a harsh pressure scarcely kept in check.

“I drew on the Force to locate him,” Luke said, “but it felt different. As if ― as if my feelings gave it a boost of some kind, and my own anger came crashing back into me...”

“Kind of like a feedback loop?” Han asked, disregarding the fact that they weren’t discussing a bad transmission circuit or anything so sensible.

“Yes, but it... _magnified_ everything,” Luke answered, groping for words. “My anger. It felt... awful. Like something overloading inside me.” His tone hardened towards dry sarcasm. “Told you there’s more to the Force.”

From the sound of it, he’d bitten off more than he could chew; perhaps Luke really needed that training to manage. And damn Kenobi who’d left him with nothing but cryptic mumblings for guidance.

A flurry of apprehension and responsibility twisted wantonly through Han’s mind. “So... has anything like it happened since?”

“No.” Luke linked his fingers firmly. “I think it happened because I wasn’t in control of my feelings and reactions. Ben told me that I must be calm.”

“Yeah, well, just don’t overdo it.” That magnificent bit of advice came without thought, from a flare-up of concern, a different impulse taking over. Han reached across to ruffle the blond hair, but the gesture didn’t come off quite as casual as it should.

Blue eyes flashed over to him, with a spark that caught in some bared nerve. “Now will you tell me why you didn’t want to―?”

Luke’s awkward smile rushed his defenses in a short sweep. The question that had been dancing on the edge of Han’s mind surged forward again. _And why’d you start it all, kid?_

“Is it Leia?”

“Hell, no,” he blurted and realized that his hand had dropped only to close around Luke’s shoulder.

Their eyes met across the minimal space of choice and want, and in the breathless pause gathered something not yet defined, gearing up to stake its claim.

Tension twitched between Han’s shoulder blades. Here it was becoming irrevocable, the steps they’d taken out of the friendship they’d shared so long, to the brink where loss could rock him to the core.

None of this was about wanting to bed the kid anymore ― he could admit that now ― and resisting that simple pull felt like small-time trouble by comparison. Somewhere along the lines, he’d gone right over the edge into lunacy.

He swallowed, leaning closer. “It wouldn’t’ve been enough, kid. Not for you... and not for me.”

Han listened to himself, and everything reliable swirled into a tumbling spin like a deck of cards.

All a lie. Every bit of reasoning he’d used to cover up the disturbance at the center of things. All a sham he’d set up to avoid this headlong drop into something he couldn’t control.

Against his face, he felt the short start of Luke’s breath, a response curbed and tied back, retreating to a shadow in his eyes. _Make up your mind_. Was that what Luke was thinking?

The blare of a claxon jolted the brittle silence and pried him out of indecision.

“That’s the evacuation signal,” Luke said hoarsely. “You’d better go.” His glance flickered around the room. “Two-Onebee’s going to sign me out of here shortly.”

Through the frozen corridors of the base jangled strident noise that canceled everything half-finished or not even started. Adrenaline glistened hot and cold along Han’s veins. _Gotta do it now or I never will_.

“Yeah, but before I leave...”

His hands lifted to Luke’s jaw, slid under his hair to curve around his neck, and no hesitation curbed the impulse this time. Han leaned forward, into the full swing of wanting, until their lips met.

Hard. Sweet. The first taste of Luke’s mouth on his own, firm and yielding, opening to him with a soft gasp of breath that he shared, drank, sinking deeper. Luke’s arms wound around his torso and caged a wild kick of heartbeat.

From the heedless pressure grew joined motion, a slow, electric urgency plunging for greater depth. The glide of lips and tongues unlocked a melting heat, on the verge of surrender. Fingers splayed against Luke’s face, Han traced the healing scar across the cheekbone. A sudden ache in his throat.

_It’s me. I’m the one who’s gonna take a fall here_.

Breaking away took a wrenching effort and snapped a whiplash of frustration into his gut. He leaned their foreheads together, hands still framing Luke’s jaw, cradling the quick beats of pulse like something incredibly fragile. _Love now. And pay hell’s dues later_. Crazy thoughts that fractured with the sound of the dimmed claxon and the closer spell of Luke’s uneven breaths.

_We can’t. Not us. We’ll always be moving in different directions_. The long road ahead of Luke. The way their choices called for self-reliance and necessary isolation ― that wasn’t going to change.

“Han.” Luke’s hand tightened around his neck before it slid down the track of pulse thumping in Han’s throat, and released him.

“I gotta go.” A cutting rasp in his voice.

Luke belonged to another life, another future. And if he let himself be torn down this gravity well, his own life would likely come out warped beyond recognition.

He straightened, and loss reeled through him when he held Luke’s eyes another moment. One look acknowledged everything that bound them more closely than touch or gestures could. And this was what Leia considered _safe_...

Out in the corridor, Han’s chest flashed with mutinous heat and silence. Too much he couldn’t say wound up tight within him. Maybe, if Luke came to see him again before they bailed out ―

He pushed the notion aside. He wasn’t going to think of it. Gone, passed up, impossible. Out of hand, out of his hands now, and back into the game of variable odds. _Get yourself together_.

From the open hangar portals blazed a glacial, cloudless day. Han stopped to let an icy draft blast all the hopeless notions from his head. Tomorrow would see him gone.

* * * * *

**Author's Note:**

> First published in ELUSIVE LOVER 5, 2001.


End file.
